


Leave This Town In Ruins

by reason_says



Category: Arma Angelus, Fall Out Boy, World's Most Hated Crew
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-17
Updated: 2007-03-17
Packaged: 2017-10-12 18:54:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reason_says/pseuds/reason_says
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Living like life's going out of style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave This Town In Ruins

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: To the best of my knowledge, this never happened. I am in no way affiliated with any of the real people referenced herein, and I am making no money from this.  
>  **Notes:**  
> [](http://natilathehun.livejournal.com/profile)[ **natilathehun**](http://natilathehun.livejournal.com/): And isn't there something sort of darkly gleeful about the image of Pete and Chris getting in a brawl together?  
> [](http://forevernew.livejournal.com/profile)[ **forevernew**](http://forevernew.livejournal.com/): OK, my eyes just LIT UP. That can't be healthy.  
> [](http://natilathehun.livejournal.com/profile)[ **natilathehun**](http://natilathehun.livejournal.com/): ...if I ever DO try to provoke you into writing slash of them, it WILL involve that.  
> [](http://natilathehun.livejournal.com/profile)[ **natilathehun**](http://natilathehun.livejournal.com/): it will be, like, adreneline-high post-show, post-fight  
> [](http://natilathehun.livejournal.com/profile)[ **natilathehun**](http://natilathehun.livejournal.com/): and it won't be ROMANTIC, just hungry and hot  
> [](http://forevernew.livejournal.com/profile)[ **forevernew**](http://forevernew.livejournal.com/): In an alley. Like he [said](http://askheychris.livejournal.com/141042.html?thread=9760498#t9760498).  
> [](http://natilathehun.livejournal.com/profile)[ **natilathehun**](http://natilathehun.livejournal.com/): because they aren't, like, LOVERS. They're brothers only. Not. Yanno. ...in an incestuous way.  
> [](http://natilathehun.livejournal.com/profile)[ **natilathehun**](http://natilathehun.livejournal.com/): Yes.  
> [](http://forevernew.livejournal.com/profile)[ **forevernew**](http://forevernew.livejournal.com/): Yeah.  
> [](http://natilathehun.livejournal.com/profile)[ **natilathehun**](http://natilathehun.livejournal.com/): ..because you just KNOW they both have that glow to them, from the inside out, when they're on that high - split lips and a cut above one of Pete's eyes and maybe Chris's already darkening with a bruise  
> [](http://natilathehun.livejournal.com/profile)[ **natilathehun**](http://natilathehun.livejournal.com/): but they're out and they SURVIVED and KICKED ASS and are just laughing with the fierce joy of it  
> [](http://forevernew.livejournal.com/profile)[ **forevernew**](http://forevernew.livejournal.com/): OK, fine! I'll write it! Are you happy now?  
> [](http://natilathehun.livejournal.com/profile)[ **natilathehun**](http://natilathehun.livejournal.com/): *cackles*
> 
> And so.

**Leave this town in ruins**

Nothing's changed.

They're like brothers; always have been. Which is why, to begin with, they were in a bar together.

Post-show and both of them were still wired, grinning maniacally at each other in an attempt to _calm down._ Eventually Pete wandered over to the bar, leaving Chris to watch the pool tables. Solids, stripes, sinking, distraction, his breathing began to slow.

But then he glanced over. Just for a second, to make sure Pete wasn't getting into trouble, still jacked and bouncing, and of course... he was. Backed up against the bar, grinning at a biker with more tattoos than brains, and more muscle than tattoos. Chris stopped, waiting. He knew what was about to happen, he _knew,_ and then--

"You fucking faggot!"

Pete was grinning, that fucking shit-eating grin that didn't falter even when his head snapped back, reeling from the punch. Chris didn't even think, was over in an instant and hitting the idiot before Pete could even stand.

"What?" The biker spat as Chris glared at him and Pete struggled to his feet. "Are you his-"

Chris was pretty sure the next word out of the moron's mouth would have been "boyfriend," but he'd found that a direct fist to the jaw tended to mangle speech.

Unfortunately, one punch also tended to lead to another, and Chris wasn't fast enough to avoid being knocked backwards into another, even burlier man. The man glared at Chris, eyes full of the anger only excessive alcohol can bring, and tried to swing from his stool. His efforts were somewhat less than successful, and he stumbled into the original biker, who pushed him back into the bar. Chris laughed, ducking as _another_ man (shit, the biker had friends?) tried to roundhouse him.

"C'mon, man," he heard from behind him, "you should know better than to leave yourself open like that." He turned, grinning fiercely at Pete, who grinned back and nodded. They turned together toward the biker.

Then it wasn't so much a blur as a haze of red and loud and glee, both of them moving steadily towards the door as bar patrons in various states of drunkenness swung at them, missed more often than not, and turned on each other, ignoring the two dirty boys as they--

Brothers, always, they fight together just like they do everything else together, but there's brotherhood and then there's stupid, not that they have a solid knowledge of that line.

\--burst onto the street, arms around shoulders, bent nearly double from laughing.

Anyone who didn't know them would think they were drunk, laughing so hard (giggling, really, though they'd punch you if you told them that, or at least demand you call it cackling) they could barely stand, stumbling away from the bar, half-running, into an alley.

They stopped, then, behind a dumpster, leaning half on the wall and half on each other, trying and failing to catch their breath through the laughter.

Pete grinned up, eyes wild. "Did you see his _face?_ "

"Nah, just yours when you went down. What the hell'd you say to him, anyway?"

Pete smirked. "Not so much what I _said,_ really."

Chris punched his shoulder, but it was half-hearted. "Dick, I'm bleeding in an alley from backing your dumb ass up, you tell me what the hell that was about!"

"Does it matter?"

"Ah, not really." Chris straightened up, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes, licking his lips against the blood that welled up further even as it was wiped away. "Just like to know why I'm jumping on bikers, that's all."

Pete chuckled, and his voice deepened. "He called me a fag, so I blew him a kiss."

Chris groaned. "You fucker, why do you have to _ask_ for shit?" He opened his eyes, swung his head sideways to look at Pete, and stopped talking.

At first, he didn't really believe what he was seeing. Maybe he'd hit his head against the wall? But no, Pete was really standing next to him, really unzipping his jeans, really reaching inside and that was quite enough, Chris didn't want to have to deal with this right now. But the longer he stared in disbelief, the more Pete's neck arched, so he shook his head and pushed off the wall, spinning to stand in front of Pete.

"Dude." Nothing. "Pete!"

Pete's head snapped up. "What?"

"What the fuck are you doing, that's what!"

"What, come on dude." How Pete had the nerve to laugh, _now_ , Chris would never understand. "Shit _always_ gets me worked up. What, like it doesn't you?" He jerked his head vaguely over his shoulder, raising his eyebrow and OK, maybe he had a point, but that's why people went _home_. Chris said as much, and Pete looked at him like _he_ was the crazy one.

"Why bother? If I go home, I have to, a, _walk there_ with a boner, and b, make sure my fucking roommates don't bother me."  
He shrugged, as well as he could with his arm crossed awkwardly in front of himself and his hand down his pants. "I'm here, and no one else is, so why not?"

"No one--" Chris was speechless. Well, no, not quite. "Motherfucker, _I'm_ here, and I don't wanna see that shit!"

"Yeah, about that." He looked pointedly at Chris, eyes darting down for a beat before coming up smirking. "As long as you're here, you might as well take care of that."

By this time, Chris had gone beyond incredulity and into pure disbelief. "What, in our entire time as friends, has made you think I'm gonna beat off in front of you?"

"What the hell, dude?" Pete laughed, more relaxed now, but his hand was still down his pants and Chris _really_ wanted to be elsewhere. "It's not like we haven't done shit like this before. This is," he smirked, "shit, this is tamer than that, anyway. At least we're not naked this time."

And Jesus Christ, tag team _one_ chick with your friend and he never stops talking about it.

Chris sighed. "You know what, fuck off. I'm not gonna do this."

And he wasn't going to, really he wasn't, he was going to go home and jerk off into a sock and not think about the arch of Pete's neck. But when he started to turn away, Pete laughed.

"Yeah, I didn't think you would."

And even though Chris already _knew_ that thankyouverymuch, he stopped, glaring. "Fuck you, why wouldn't I?"

Pete pulled his hand out of his pants with an exasperated sigh and a smirk. "'Cause you think it'll make you gay."

Chris stared. For a good minute. "That's the dumbest fucking thing I've ever heard."

"Fine," Pete shrugged. "So prove me wrong."

"Yeah, 'cause we're _ten_ and that'll work." Chris shook his head, but Pete just crossed his arms, looking up and away, faux-innocent and almost smirking.

Chris stared for a moment, incredulous, before rolling his eyes, grinning, "Oh, what the fuck _ever,_ " and starting to unbutton his jeans. He watched Pete's face carefully, not really trusting him not to start laughing, and so marked the exact moment when Pete's expression changed from amused to feral. He backed up, reflexively keeping the grin on his face (a cornered animal baring his teeth to ward off predators), faltering only when he hit the wall.

He stood, hands at his belt, watching as Pete crossed the few steps between them, stalking forward until he was pressed against Chris, eyes boring into him and hands pushing his aside to pull down his zipper.

"Dude," not angry, just incredulous, "what the fuck?"

But Pete was grinning wildly and he laughed when he spoke. "Teach him to call me a fag..." He trailed off and Chris laughed, breathless, and suddenly Pete's hand was on his cock and fuck. Yes.

He shuddered once before recovering; it was Pete, after all, and the unexpected had long ago become expected. Pete's hand never stopped, and Chris growled quietly, low in his chest, and tugged Pete's jeans open. "Crazy motherfucker." And then his hand was in Pete's jeans, on Pete's cock, and fuck if he'd ever done this before but Pete's stuttered breath and the bite to his shoulder when he connected reassured him more than any words could have.

Not that either of them could have said anything coherent at this point, still painfully hard and God, Chris should have known Pete would be good at this, he'd seen him slip into enough bathrooms, but he'd never thought about it in practical terms. (Not that he was thinking about it _now_ , how could he? With Pete's hand around his cock, Pete's breath hot against his neck, _Pete._ )

Pete looked up at him then, moved in, and Chris jerked his head away but Pete just bit at his mouth and _oh,_ that was OK, that was more than OK, that was _great,_ and Chris groaned and bit back, worrying at Pete's bottom lip, already split and growing worse, never connecting both at once but letting himself go in the sharp pain and iron taste and clashing teeth.

Then there was only hothardfast _god,_ and Chris came after minutes or it could have been days, aware of the cliché and somehow keeping his hand moving even as he groaned against Pete's mouth. He felt Pete buck against him, forcing him back against the wall, grinding and _god,_ it was fucking _painful_ that soon after but he was hardly complaining, especially when Pete sank his teeth into his shoulder as he came, holding for a moment before pulling back panting.

"So." And there was that damned grin again. "You wanna go eat?"

Chris blinked at him, not quite back in focus. "Eat?"

Pete shrugged. "Or not, whatever, but we didn't really get a chance to, back there." He jerked his head back, not at all the direction of the bar but it didn't actually matter.

"Yeah." Chris shook his head, trying to figure things out. "Yeah, I could eat."

Except he couldn't, apparently. All he could do was stab vaguely at his waffle and stare at Pete, wondering when the hell they were going to talk about this.

But they didn't. And that was the thing, was that Pete didn't even act like they _needed_ to. It would have been easier (for Chris, at least, which was all he was concerned with) if Pete had acted like he had something to hide, or like he was actively avoiding the conversation. But no, he just went about his life like nothing had happened, like he'd _forgotten,_ and fuck that. Fuck. That. Just because Chris had never given anyone a handjob before (and was never going to again, his brain kept trying to convince him), that didn't mean it was _forgettable._

Except he tried. Tried to forget, to ignore the whole thing and go back to being PeteAndChris, the way they had been before and always would be. It didn't mean anything, it was just two friends getting off, and he needed to _move on._ Because their friendship was worth more to him then a hundred handjobs in back alleys, no matter how awesome said handjobs were, and no matter if he could still taste Pete's blood on his tongue.

And so what if he thinks about it, grips himself tighter and bites his lip trying to recreate the feeling of Pete's teeth clashing against his? Just because he looks at Pete's lip, still split, and licks his own, that doesn't mean anything. Nothing's changed. They're like brothers; always have been. That's all.


End file.
